


When the Night Is Long

by ester_inc



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ester_inc/pseuds/ester_inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has ways of coping with Cobb not sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Night Is Long

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a scene from an unhealthy relationship. I like to think it gets better for them in the future.

The air was warm and humid, making the sheets stick to Arthur's skin. He lay on his back in the dark and stared at the ceiling. There was no need for him to turn his head to see what had woken him up; no need to confirm that the bed next to his was empty.

Listening to the hum of the city outside, a world away from home, he closed his eyes but didn't allow himself to fall back to sleep. There -- in the adjacent room -- a rustle of papers. Arthur let out a breath, pretending he didn't feel relieved at the absence of the familiar hissing sound of a PASIV.

Opening his eyes, he stayed where he was for another moment before untangling the sheets and getting up. Once the bedroom door was open, he leaned against the frame, tucking his hands under his arms. There was a lamp standing in the corner of the room, too weak to reach the shadows in the other three corners but still bright after the unchallenged darkness of the bedroom.

Cobb was sitting on the couch, a pencil in one hand, a spill of papers on the coffee table in front of him, barely within reach of the light; it soon became clear that he wasn't going to acknowledge Arthur's presence.

"You're going to ruin your eyes," Arthur said, his voice hushed with the late hour.

At first, it looked like the slight tightening of Cobb's mouth was all Arthur was going to get, but then Cobb made a note in the margins of one of the papers and, without looking up, said, "Go back to bed, Arthur."

Arthur curled his toes against the scratched wooden floor and stayed put. _Go back to bed, Arthur_. He'd heard that one before. As he looked at Cobb, the way he was hunched over printouts and scattered sketches of parks and streets and paradoxical structures, the slight sheen of sweat at his temples, the thin undershirt and slacks he was wearing, Arthur wished -- he truly did -- that he could turn around, close the door and go back to sleep.

Fool that he was, he couldn't help but hear those words -- _go back to bed, Arthur_ \-- and think that maybe one day, if they were both smart and quick and talented and lucky enough to stay alive, to go home together -- that maybe then, instead of _go_ , he'd hear _come_.

For now, though -- for now, for nights like these, they had a script. It didn't always work, but looking at the bags under Cobb's eyes, the almost desperate way he gripped his pencil, Arthur was reasonably sure it would tonight.

He walked to Cobb and pushed at his shoulder to get him to sit up a little, to make room. He took the pencil from Cobb's tense but unresisting hand and dropped it to the coffee table, then dropped, himself, to his knees on the floor between Cobb's legs.

"I'm going to blow you," he said, because he liked being direct, and because Cobb got uncooperative if he thought he was being manipulated, "and then you're going to try and get some sleep."

Cobb also didn't like being told what to do, but when push came to shove, Cobb would always do what Cobb wanted to do regardless of Arthur's thoughts on the matter, and most of the time, the fact that they both knew that was enough to counter Cobb's contrary nature.

Cobb didn't say anything, but when Arthur started working on his fly, he brought a hand up, his fingers light under Arthur's chin, his thumb brushing over Arthur's lower lip once, twice, before he dropped his hand, curling it into a loose fist at his side.

Arthur looked down at his own hands as he pushed Cobb's slacks and boxers down to expose his cock, trying to ignore the ghost of Cobb's fingertips against his skin. That had been -- new.

Cobb leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, and -- that was not new. Arthur pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he wrapped his fingers around Cobb's cock and coaxed it into full hardness. When he took it into his mouth, hard and smooth on his tongue, he closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing but the taste and weight of it, the musky scent of sex, the quiet, gasping sounds above him.

He didn't make it quick, but neither did he take his time; he started sucking harder at the taste of pre-come, his cheeks hollow with it, and when Cobb came, tense and still and near-silent, Arthur didn't pull away.

Afterward, his mouth felt too empty and his lips too full of blood, and when he opened his eyes, the lamp in the corner of the room seemed too bright again. Cobb was still slumped against the couch; his eyes were still closed.

Arthur got up and went to the bathroom. He jerked off into the toilet and flushed it; when he washed his hands, he didn't look into the mirror.

Apart from putting his clothes back to rights, Cobb had barely moved in Arthur's short absence. He didn't resist when Arthur pulled him to his feet and pushed him into the bedroom, laying down without fuss when Arthur pointed at one of the beds. But he was on his back, on top of the covers, and orgasm or no orgasm, Arthur knew that left to his own devices, Cobb would spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling.

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed and gave Cobb a nudge. "Roll over."

That got him a brief, measuring look and minutely pursed lips, but Cobb was tired -- exhausted -- and in the end, Arthur got his way. He lay down behind Cobb, putting an arm around Cobb's waist and pressing his forehead against Cobb's back. Gradually, Cobb relaxed. If he was pretending it was someone other than Arthur holding him close, guarding his sleep, well -- all that mattered was that he got some rest. Arthur couldn't afford to care about anything else.

Tomorrow, they would work and argue and plan, and one day, Cobb would be able to go home, and maybe then Arthur would hear _come_ instead of _go_.

But nights like these would always remain in the dark, where they belonged. Nights like these would never see the dawn, or be put to words. The morning would come, and Arthur would wake up to an empty room, and neither he nor Cobb wouldn't talk about it.

In the light of day, not talking about it wasn't a difficult thing to do.

Here, now, in the dark, Arthur counted his breaths, and tried to remember how to fall asleep.


End file.
